It's Kind Of A Social Anxiety Thing
by ihadtoputitsomewhere
Summary: Based off of the sneak peek for 4x04. Except...kinda not really. In this case it's Stiles who needs help and Malia is the one who can help him.


"Scott, I really don't wanna do this. Can we just go home? Please?" I pleaded from the passenger seat of Melissa's car.

"Stiles, relax. It'll be fun! Besides, we haven't been to a party in like…ever. We deserve it." Scott retorted.

"Yeah, and the last party we went to a girl, one who was actually willing to sex me, I might add, ended up dead. So this might not be such a fantastic way to reward ourselves." I added.

"Come on, one drink. Please? For me?" Scott whined with desperation so fake he deserved an Oscar. I contemplated in silence, before finally giving in. I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Fine." I spat. "One drink. Then we're gone."

"Yes!" Scott cheered. He looked over at me with a grin so big it almost wrapped all the way around his uneven jaw. I flashed a smile that was dripping with sarcasm and rolled my eyes. "God, I hate parties." I muttered under my breath.

I stared out the window in silence until Scott pulled in front of some person's house that I didn't know. He cut the engine and turned to face me, his eyes wide in anticipation. "You ready?" He asked.

"No." I spat.

"Shut up." Scott groaned as he got out of the car. "You'll love it."

I forced a laugh, "Yeah, huh, no pretty sure I won't. Too many people, too much noise. I hate it already." I clumsily exited the vehicle, and I was positive everyone was staring at me.

"Dude, you're killing my vibe. I'll stick with you the whole time if that makes you feel better. Now come oooonnn. It's gonna be over before we even get inside." Scott pulled on my arm and walked towards the house.

"Wait a sec—did you seriously just say 'vibe?' That's it, I can't be seen with you."

"Stiles—" Scott laughed.

"Nope. No. Can't do it. You're gonna have to find another wingman, sorry."

"Stiles, I hope you haven't forgotten the most important detail…" Scott blinked and his eyes glowed a fierce red. _Damn, _I thought, _I'm never gonna get used to how cool that is. _"I'm an alpha. I could track you by scent. You couldn't ditch me even if you wanted to."

I clamped my hand down on his shoulder. "Yeah, you're probably right. Now put the glowsticks away before someone sees them."

Scott blinked and brown replaced red. We matched each other stride for stride as we walked to the front door and up the steps. Scott jiggled the doorknob a bit before it swung open, and revealed absolute chaos.

People were everywhere. There were people dancing, people hooking up, people jumping off the staircase and on the couch. There were people in the kitchen making drinks and smoking what I determined to be weed. I saw a few familiar faces, Danny talking to a boy who looked to be a year above us, but didn't go to Beacon Hills High School. I saw Greenberg, believe it or not, dancing with a group of people I didn't recognize. _Way to go, buddy. _I thought. I saw Lydia talking to some guy. I didn't really care to see who it was. But other than that, Scott was really the only one I knew at this party, which made the situation even worse.

I hate parties. Like, really hate them. Like so much it makes me sick to my stomach sometimes. I started to feel it; the panic was slowly creeping into my veins with every passing minute. I stayed close behind Scott as we weaved through the crowd to the back of the house, where Kira and Malia were talking. Well, the music was so loud it was probably more like screaming.

"Scott!" Kira yelled, waving us over. She immediately came over and wrapped her arms around him. She whispered something in his ear, but I couldn't catch it. The next thing I knew, Scott was telling me he would be back in a little and was pulling Kira behind him to a more "private" place in the house. Malia stood next to me, her arms crossed. She had a look on her face, like she was silently judging everyone in this room, but was also intrigued. Suddenly her face scrunched up and she turned to me.

"What's wrong?" She asked over the music.

"Huh?" I yelled back, putting my hands in my pockets.

"You smell like anxiety. But it's weird, it's like…anyway. What's wrong?" she yelled, stepping closer to me.

"Oh, yeah, I just, uh… I don't know, I guess I just…don't really like parties." I rocked uncomfortably on my heels, pressing my lips into a straight line.

"Why did you come then?" she asked. Our shoulders brushed and my heart jumped. I could feel my palms getting sweaty and I suddenly felt really hot.

"Scott." I replied simply. Because really, that's all there was to it. I was here for Scott. That's it.

"Oh." She said. After 30 unbelievably awkward seconds, she spoke again. "You sure you're okay?"

I looked at her and then quickly looked at my feet. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

She closed the space between us and put her lips right next to my ear, almost touching. "You're a horrible liar." She whispered. Then she turned on her heel, and disappeared into the mosh pit that had formed in the center of the living room.

I stared as she walked away and vanished into the crowd. Not 5 minutes later, some guy who I didn't know, and who was obviously drunk off his ass, wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me towards the mass to bodies.

"No, dude, no I—hey! Dude! No, listen I don't want t—" I stammered, struggling to escape his grip.

"Relax bro! Just enjoy the party." He made his way through the crowd, towing me behind him as he went. Suddenly he stopped and turned to face me, a huge, drunken grin on his face. "You can thank me later, dude." He yelled. Then he turned, I blinked, and he was gone.

I was stuck, in this huge group of people and yet I still felt all alone. I couldn't breathe…it was as if the air had suddenly been pulled from my lungs. I spun in circles, desperately looking for someone, anyone, I knew who could help me. But I couldn't find anyone. I began to feel dizzy, like the room was spinning. Tears welled up in my eyes and clouded my vision. My bottom lip began quivering and I had to bite down on it to make it stop. My palms were sweating and my hands were shaking and I felt myself being overtaken with the rising panic in my chest. There were so many people. Too many people. Too ma—

"Stiles?" Malia's face emerged from the hundreds of faces I didn't recognize. "Stiles, you okay?"

I stared at her, unable to form coherent thoughts. I furrowed my eyebrows and shook my head.

"Okay. Come on," she slipped her arm around my waist and began pulling me towards the edge of the mosh pit. "Let's get you out of here."

Malia pulled me with her towards a long hallway with multiple doors to multiple bedrooms. She opened three before finally finding one that was empty. She sat me down on the bed and knelt down in front of me.

Malia took one of my hands and held it in both of her much smaller ones. "Look, Stiles, I don't know much about…whatever this is, but I'm gonna try to help as much as I can. What do you need? What can I do?"

I was staring at the door, trying to keep the panic attack from climbing into my lungs and choking me. When I didn't answer, Malia placed a hand on my cheek and turned my head so that I was looking at her instead of off into space.

"What do you need?" Malia asked. She spoke softly. Her voice was steady and soothing, like rain, but without the thunder. Suddenly, the door swung open and two _very _intoxicated teenagers came stumbling in. I flinched and tried to scoot away, managing to drop to my knees and crawl to the furthest wall from the door. Malia stood up and growled loudly. "Get. Out." She snarled.

_There's the thunder. _I thought.

She herded them out and shut the door, locking it this time. She sighed and bowed her head, keeping one hand on the doorknob and the other flat against the door itself. Then she turned to look at me, concern flashing in her eyes.

"You okay over there?" she asked, slowly making her way over to where I was sitting. I scooted over to make room for her in my space on the floor.

I nodded. "Mmhmm." I answered.

Malia fidgeted with her hands, in a way that reminded me of myself as a kid. "So… are you going to tell me what happened out there?"

I swallowed. "I don't really like parties." I said simply. "It's kind of a social anxiety thing."

"Yeah, but this isn't _just _an anxiety thing. I was wrong before. You don't smell like anxiety. You smell like fear." She stated. I could tell she was staring at the side of my head but I couldn't bring myself to look at her.

"The thing about fear," I started. "is that it's basically just noise. I've been scared for a really long time. Eventually, y'know you just kinda get used to it. You get used to the noise. I don't even notice it anymore. But sometimes it gets loud. Like someone turns the volume all the way up. The ringing in your ear becomes unbearable. But the only thing you can do is feel it. Accept it. And then, after a while it's just noise again. But you never stop hearing it. Not ever." I looked down at my trembling hands and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Is it loud tonight?" Malia asked gently.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Stiles do you trust me?" she asked suddenly.

"What?" I said, looking at her with a confused expression.

"Do you trust me?" she repeated.

"I, uh, y-yeah I guess so. Why? What are y—"

Malia stood up and reached out her hands for me to take. She helped me up off the floor and pulled me over to the bed. She climbed in and made herself a little nest made of pillows and blankets. When she was finished, she patted the space next to her, gesturing for me to get in.

"Malia…"

"Just shut up and get in the bed okay?"

I scowled, but then smiled to myself. "Fine."

I climbed in beside her and made myself comfortable while Malia turned off the lamp on the bedside table. It was all dark except for the pale moonlight that crept through the windows and the light in the hallway outside that escaped underneath the door. She scooted close and wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into the shape of her body. At first, I hesitated, not knowing what was considered weird or awkward.

"Your heart is beating really fast." Malia whispered.

"I know, sorry." I said a little too quickly.

"It's okay. Just relax. Breathe."

I took a deep breath and sighed, my breath hot against her chest. I felt her reach up and begin playing with my short tufts of hair, something my mom used to do when I was little. It felt good, almost too good, like to the point of falling asleep.

"You seem calmer." Malia whispered.

"Yeah…it's quieter now. The noise, I mean. The silence feels nice."

Malia hummed in response. I shifted and looked up at her, my lips parted slightly. She looked back down at me, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." I stammered. "I just…I think I really like you."

"Oh. Well, I think I really like you too."

"Really?"

"No I'm lying. I actually hate your guts."

"Oh." I looked down.

"Shut up and come here." She laughed, lifting my chin with her fingers and pressing her lips softly against mine. We fell into a rhythm, our bodies and lips fitting together like a puzzle that had forever been missing its final piece. Our hands explored while our tongues danced. I was out of breath, but the burn in my lungs felt good.

When we couldn't hold our breath any longer, we reluctantly broke apart. The room was filled with the distant beat of the music outside our little safe haven and the sound of both of us catching our breath. Malia suddenly rolled over and laid her head on my chest, wrapping both arms and a leg around my body.

"Uh…Malia?" I said hesitantly. "We can't stay here all night you know."

"But we can stay for a while. Let's stay for a little bit, and just…be. Enjoy the quiet."

"Okay."

"Stiles?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I do."

"Do what?"

"I think I really like you too."


End file.
